Truce
by foxmonkey
Summary: Their truce is shaky at best. Written for the Bamon Drabble Party on Livejournal quite a while ago, in response to a picture prompt.


**Their truce is shaky at best. Written for the Bamon Drabble Party on Livejournal quite a while ago, in response to a picture prompt.**

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She thought he'd have a more luxurious bed, though the dark antique headboard was beautiful. The linens were probably the best, Egyptian cotton with some incredibly high thread count. For all the care he took with his beautiful surroundings, the man on the bed might as well have been in a Motel 6.

Bonnie bit back a sigh and wondered why she'd volunteered to come check on the sulky vampire. No, that wasn't quite right. She knew exactly why she'd offered. Stefan had mentioned Damon's uncharacteristically bleak, quiet mood and Elena, in her new guise as "friend" had moved toward the staircase. When Bonnie saw Stefan's face go carefully blank, she'd offered to check on Damon herself. Stefan gave her the very briefest, sad sweet smile, and she'd headed up the stairs.

She'd knocked, hadn't expected an answer, and had opened the door slowly. Empty beer bottles - Heineken - littered the nightstand. The man himself, clad only in a pair of white boxer shorts, lay propped up on a bank of pillows, another beer in hand. He was staring straight ahead at nothing Bonnie could see.

"Drinking yourself into a stupor? How's that working for you?" Bonnie asked, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed.

"Not well enough, obviously. Another twelve bottles might do the trick." He tipped the beer to his lips and drank.

"Let me guess. You're doing your part to keep them in business because you were there when the brewery was founded."

Damon snorted. "Not quite, honey. I just own a shitload of their stock." He turned to face her. She'd known the Salvatores for months now, but Bonnie was always just a little stunned when she looked at Damon. He really was ridiculously beautiful.

They looked at each for a moment, neither of them speaking. Bonnie finally broke the silence. "We're going to watch a movie a little later, after some dinner. Care to join us?"

Damon smiled slowly. "Care to join _me_?" He gestured with the bottle in his hand. "No annoyingly furrowed foreheads or babbling besties to get on our nerves." Bonnie couldn't help but laugh. Damon's smile turned into a lower-wattage version of his usual smirk. "You know you want to."

"Come on." Bonnie moved into the room and held out her hand. "Come join us." Damon placed his bottle on the nightstand and took Bonnie's hand, allowing her to pull him to his feet; when upright, he pulled Bonnie to him and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Is this room service? Are you my dinner?" Damon asked softly, dipping his face to Bonnie's neck. His lips ghosting over her skin tickled slightly, and Bonnie ducked her head.

"No, you freak, I'm not dinner," Bonnie laughed. "This is a shaky truce at best, vampire; don't push your luck." But she didn't move away. Damon's body was cool and firm, and Bonnie tried to ignore that he was clad only in his underwear. "Put some pants on and quit sulking." She looked up and they stood looking into each others' eyes, arms around each other, faces only inches apart.

"Mmmm, we should have called a truce earlier," Damon murmured, turning his face into her hair. "You smell so good."

Bonnie untangled herself from his embrace and stepped back, sure that the temperature in the room had risen a few degrees. "Jeans and a t-shirt," she ordered, turning away and moving to the door. She paused. "Elena will be disappointed if you don't show."

"The babbling bestie? Who cares? Will _you_ be disappointed?"

Bonnie half turned to look over her shoulder, and paused again before speaking softly. "Would you care if I were?" There was no answer. She wasn't sure why she'd said it, because his silence was pretty much what she expected. Well, she'd already said it was a shaky truce. She turned again to the door, and as she turned the knob, heard Damon muttering behind her.

"A man can't enjoy dinner and a movie in his own home without getting dressed," he groused, and Bonnie heard the tinkle of glass and the sound of what could only be bottles falling off the nightstand and onto the floor. "I'm not even getting a little witch blood out of it!" The sound of drawers opening and closing with more force than necessary. "I hate you people."

"Yeah," Bonnie said, smiling, "we hate you too." She closed the door behind her.


End file.
